


In the undead of the night

by Melo_Mapo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Humor, Karaoke, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Monster of the Week, Mutual Masturbation, Nudity, Pack, Pack Feels, Post-Canon, Songfic, Tattooed Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melo_Mapo/pseuds/Melo_Mapo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beware, monsters, Stiles is taking zumba classes… and likes to sing!</p><p>Or, the fic where the pack goes to college during the week, and fight monsters on the weekends. Also, there is definitely something going on with Derek and Stiles…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take me to church

**Author's Note:**

> After reading so much fanfiction, I'm finally writing some! My native language is French, so don't hesitate to correct my English :)  
> I hope you'll enjoy the story!
> 
> I recommend opening the songs in the background for ambiance.

\- Karaoke, Stiles, really?

Looking at their faces, Stiles realizes Lydia is voicing the pack's opinion. Only Liam looks a tiny bit excited.

\- Hey, it's my turn to organize the training session. You never know when you'll have to out-sing a siren.

Isaac winces. He's the one who suffered the most from their encounter with the mean half-eagle, half-human creatures. The curly-haired werewolf can't sing on key to save his life. Literally.

\- Also, I'm going to crush you guys, Stiles ad with a slightly manic grin.

\- Oh, really? You're on, answers Lydia.

She's the one who saved the day, back with the sirens. Leave it to a banshee to have extraordinary singing skills, Stiles thinks as they head inside the bar.

With a bit of help from Derek's glaring, the pack finds a free table. The bar isn't the only one in Beacon Hills that does karaoke night, but it's the only one that gives the best singers of the night a discount on their bill, so it is already pretty crowded. When the wolves learn about the prize, Stiles sees them perk up, eyes determined. _Competitive assholes,_ he reflects fondly. _Works every time_. Derek catches his expression, and his mouth frowns, but his eyes smile, crinkling at the corner. Even though he knows what Stiles did, he plays along, trying to convince Isaac to sign up for a song.

Lydia is the first one to go, looking like she wants to get rid of her "training" and enjoy the cocktails Aiden will most certainly pay for her. When she comes back from a perfect rendition of "[Rolling in the deep](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYEDA3JcQqw)," Aiden and Ethan take the stage. They look like they picked the first song they were vaguely familiar with, because they butcher it so bad it takes Stiles a while to recognize [Mumford & Sons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWza_On7ajs). The clap-o-meter actually shows a negative score for them, as a noisy group of girls sitting near the stage boos them.

A few other people sing before Liam goes up, with a shameless "[Howlin' for you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vrmy_Yjc4Ik)" that he sings half-laughing, half-serious, but looking straight at Malia all the while. The werecoyote is wearing that angry look that means she's not quite sure how to act in this very human situation. Everybody knows she's actually pleased though, and Stiles's the first to tease her, glad that ship has sailed for good. Damn, being Malia's sort-of boyfriend while Liam couldn't help but roll on his back and show his belly every time she was in the same room had been all kinds of awkward.

Liam comes back and Derek makes space so he can sit next to Malia. Other people sing, some good, but most terrible, while they drink sodas or, for ones lucky enough to be older than 21, alcoholic beverages. It's not like it will get them drunk anyway, thinks Stiles, looking at Scott nursing a Guinness. Stiles is not that impatient to turn 21 anyway. He likes the life they have going on, and becoming an adult will mean having to figure out the whole pack dynamics again.

He sighs and sits back, glad they made it work despite going to college. Some pack members, like Isaac, had decided against it, preferring to start working. The others had managed to pursue their dreams of higher education close enough to Beacon Hills that they could drive or fly back every weekend. They come together and discuss the latest supernatural news and train. They got better with time, and the Nemeton got quieter, so their lives are more normal than weird these days.

\- So, who's turn is it now? asks Kira.

Scott and her have been whispering earlier so Stiles knows they have a duet planned.

\- Floor's all yours, what did you pick?

It turns out Scott can't help being sappy as fuck when in love, and Kira finds it too adorable not to indulge him. They sing "[I'm Yours](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EkHTsc9PU2A)" by Jason Mraz and Stiles pretends to vomit to amuse the pack, but he secretly envies them. College has been good to him, sex-wise, but he has yet to find someone he could feel serious about. The whole supernatural shebang doesn't help, and he's had to cancel dates to go back home and fight the latest threat more than once.

Kira and Scott are not the best singers, but they get a good round of applause from all the romantics in the bar. A few songs pass by as Stiles tries to coax Malia and Isaac into singing, but he doesn't succeed. He turns to Derek, who's sitting across from him, but the werewolf has seen it coming and speaks before he does:

\- I'll only sing if you go first.

Stiles wanted to go last, so he could show his supremacy over them all, but after some arguing - mostly growls from Derek - he ends up accepting the deal. Stiles's voice is nice, but nothing special when he sings and he knows he can't rely only on it to win. His secret weapon? Zumba. No, really, zumba. When Deaton accepted to refer him to a teacher in druidic practices, the first thing he'd been told was that he needed more coordination if he wanted to do better magic than mountain ash circles. So Stiles had taken dance classes, and discovered he could actually move pretty well if he focused and trained enough. From there, zumba had been a fun sport to burn out excess energy from the ADHD, now that he wasn't playing lacrosse anymore. And then he'd discovered clubbing, proper clubbing, and realized he was indeed attractive to gay men when he moved a certain way.

He still feels nervous as he steps on the stage. There's a difference between doing his zumba routine in class, or wriggling inside the mass of anonymous bodies on the dance floor, and dancing alone in front of the pack. Good thing he rehearsed back in his dorm room, he thinks as he takes off his plaid button down, revealing the tight black t-shirt he is wearing underneath. Along with his skinniest black jeans, it's his lucky "I'm scoring tonight" outfit and, from the way eyes start lingering on him, he knows it's working. One of the girl in the group near the stage winks at him and he smiles back, getting the mic off its stand as the music start, grateful that it is cordless. The music starts and they are a few laughs as people immediately recognize the song: [Footloose](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wFWDGTVYqE8). They understand the choice better when he start dancing, hoping the girls in the front row table will take up the floor in front of the stage. The first blatantly sexy hip move gets him a wolf-whistle from that table. He looks at the girl, keeps singing while gesturing for her to get up and join. She turns to her friends and, after a moment of excruciating hesitation, the whole group gets up and comes dance in front of the stage. Perfect thinks Stiles as the instrumental part of the song leaves him time to dance in earnest, using his arms in his signature move that his teacher calls “the upgraded flailing.” It looks better than it sounds and gets him some hooting, from the pack’s table. He glances there, sees Kira grin while Scott looks mixed between admiration for Stiles and shame at his girlfriend’s yelling. All the other are various stages of flabbergasted, except Lydia who’s supremely smug. She’s the one who suggested dancing to begin with, when the druid master had said Stiles needed to work on coordination. The look on Derek’s face is by far the best, surprise making his eyes wide and something in the defensive cross of his arms saying that it’s the first time he’s realizing Stiles isn’t 16 anymore.

    Stiles jumps down the stage, mingles with the few people dancing. He rubs his lithe body in the lewdest way he knows against one of the front-table girls, before breaking away. He sings and dances for a while more, but the song is coming to an end. He ends his show by somersaulting back on stage, just in time to sing the last line. He puts the mic back on its stand, smiling and panting, while the crowd erupts in clapping, laughing and yelling. The clap-o-meter goes wild, Stiles’s score exploding all previous measures. On his way back to his table, he blows a kiss to the girl he danced with and is delighted to see her flush and giggle.

\- Damn, Stilinski, who knew you could move like that?

Ethan is giving him the most obvious once-over in the history of once-overs, and Stiles rolls his eyes, sitting back down.

\- Why, you’re considering dumping Danny for me?

Danny knows about the supernatural since Ethan and him are still dating, 3 years later, but he couldn’t make it this weekend, stuck at CalTech by an exam to study for.

\- No, but you’d spice our Saturday nights just right…

Scott whines then:

\- Can we stop speaking about Stiles’s newfound sexiness now, please?

His nose is scrunched up, and Stiles knows that arousal is one of the most persistent scents. He has to say he’s kind of flattered he managed to rile people up dancing on Footloose, of all songs. Maybe when his Keep Your Hat On routine will be better…

\- So, Derek, what did you pick?

Isaac’s asking the grumpy werewolf, who's playing with his empty bottle of beer.

\- You’ll see, he answers.

They start chatting about school and about the progress they are making with their digitized bestiary. Stiles is in the middle of arguing his point about the usefulness of a relational database allowing for a better cross-referencing thanks to multiple tags when Derek’s name is being called by the party host. Stiles sits back, curious about what kind of song the guy picked. Stiles has seen speakers in his loft, the kind you plug your phone in, so he knows Derek listens to music, but he has no idea what kind. As the werewolf leaves, he grabs his leather jacket and puts it back on, despite the steamy atmosphere. _Unfair_ , thinks Stiles as he looks at the shoulders, ass, and general hotness that is Derek Hale getting on stage. The music hasn’t even started yet and people are already clapping and whistling. Derek adjust the stand to his height, all Jeff Buckley-like with the leather and the stubble, and whispers in a voice way deeper than his actual one:

\- I picked "[Take me to church](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVjiKRfKpPI)," I hope you’ll like it.

There a bit more hooting and someone’s throws a lewd remark about how they’re already liking it alright, but Derek doesn’t acknowledge them, playing off his usual Tall, Dark and Handsome routine. The graveness he shows is a bit fake to people who know him well, but it’s good enough to have the bar’s ambient chatter dies down gradually as the music starts. Stiles rolls his eyes, because Derek’s bad at lying, always has been, and his eyebrows are all wrong. He wants to make a snide comment to Lydia, but then Derek starts singing and Stiles forgets everything about the fakeness. Derek’s voice is low, a bit rough, downright perfect for the song. He sounds tortured, broken, looks like it too when the chorus comes and he implores, eyes closed:

_Take me to church,_

_I'll worship like a dog_

_At the shrine of your lies_

Stiles has a mind to joke about the dog line, but something in the lyrics hints at something real he doesn’t want to make fun of. 

_I’ll tell you my sins_

_and you can sharpen your knife_

He thinks of Kate, of Jennifer, of Braeden even, who disappeared and never turned back. He glances around the table, sees the discomfort he feels on the pack’s faces. Needing to break the tension, Stiles leans toward Lydia and fake whispers:

\- I’m not sure if I should cry or be turned on.

Lydia plays along:

\- Well, you’re obviously not crying, so shut up and enjoy the show.

A few snickers and smiles escape the pack and after a few whispers they settle again to listen to Derek sing. Stiles was joking earlier, but staring at the werewolf’s muscles strain his grey henley, at the focus on his face as he rasps the lyrics with a voice better suited to the bedroom, he feels warmth pool low in his gut. Stiles tries to distract himself with unsexy thoughts, playing with his glass and munching on the ice cubes in it. A drop slips through the condensation on the outside of it, and suddenly Stiles recalls with acuity how Derek had looked, bare-chested and glistening with sweat, during a training session involving lots of push-ups. Derek’s voice intones one more “take me to church” and Stiles finds his gaze drawn back to him, except this time Derek is looking right back at him, finishing the song under enough swooning, yelling and clapping to make the room vibrates. His eyes still set on Stiles, Derek smiles, victorious, and, Goddess, smug is a good look on him. Unfair thinks Stiles again, but he’s not too sure himself if he is envious of Derek’s score or jealous of whomever gets to touch him. Desire flares, and Stiles tries to crush it, because the current dynamic of the pack was hard enough to reach, and is still fragile due to them studying in different towns, and he can’t endanger that.

    So when Derek comes up to the table, leather jacket thrown on a shoulder, looking like a werewolf version of James Dean, Stiles plays the sore loser, asking with all the snark he can gather:

\- Since when do you sing?

Derek takes a blatant sniff, nostrils flaring as he breathes in and eludes the question:

\- Since when do you have a thing for singers?

Stiles can’t help but reply with the slow, flirtatious smile he practiced in front of the mirror. Derek’s gaze flickers to his lips, and Stiles knows he’s thinking about how they would look stretched even wider. That’s how he designed that smile, and he knows it works.

\- They do tend to perform better.

Scott swallows the last of his beer wrong and coughs. When he turns to him, Stiles catches Isaac and Lydia engaged in a silent conversation with lots of eye-rolling.

\- You ok, buddy? asks Stiles, clapping his alpha on the back.

\- Yeah, I’m… I’m good, answers Scott.

He looks a bit pinched but Stiles lets it go. Derek sits again, and he looks almost imperceptibly… disappointed? Stiles refuses to read into it and turns to Kira instead, asking above Scott’s shoulder what she’s been up to this week.


	2. Hunter 101

Stiles is haunted.

Well, not literally haunted, because that would suck, and it happened already last year when Kira’s grandma died. Once was enough, and his protection charms protect all the pack from it now.

No, Stiles is haunted in a much more mundane way. Stiles can’t take his mind off the damn song Derek sang during the karaoke night. The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon is in full swing and Stiles doesn’t spend a day without "Take me to church" being broadcast at the store, sneaking in its Spotify playlist, or in the Youtube suggestions. Whenever he doesn’t think about anything in particular, the melody and few lyrics he knows pop in his mind. He tries singing other songs, tries focusing on homework. The song comes back, along with the image of Derek, eyes closed, voice hoarse as he sang. It’s maddening.

_I'll worship like a dog_

_At the shrine of your lies_

He gives up one morning, when he catches his roommate humming it as she’s getting breakfast, and tells her everything. She laughs and actually curses his computer so that the song starts playing on Pandora, Spotify and Youtube every time he opens it. _That’s what you get for rooming with a witch,_ he tells himself. It takes him a full 3 hours to undo the curse, and when he complains about it she tells him it’s good training for his next classes. Sofia was right, and he aces the next test in _Hexes and curses, how to deal with the aftermath_. That night, when he sips a beer while making dinner, the song simmering at the edge of his conscience, he realizes it could be worse. Damn, he’s going to the closest there is to an actual Hogwarts! He relaxes and forgoes the spoon, making the tomato sauce swirl in the saucepan with the power of his mind. _The power of his mind,_ he thinks with glee, looking at the simmering sauce.

Of course, the peace and quiet never stays like that for long: it's not even the weekend yet and Beacon Hills has come down with yet another case of supernatural. Stiles is just out of his last class on Friday when he receives a text from Scott saying “Lydia could use your help on something,” which Stiles translates as “We have a situation on our hands, but we haven’t identified the monster of the week yet.” Since he still has stuff at his Dad’s house, Stiles decides against making a detour by his dorm to pick up the clothes he packed, gets in his Jeep and directly drives back home. He spends the two hours it takes on the phone with Lydia, and she clues him in to what’s been happening: animals in the preserve have been found dead, looking crazed or having apparently committed suicide.

By the time he’s barging in Derek’s loft, he has a pretty good idea of what’s going on and they eliminated the most obvious culprits. One side of the loft has already been transformed into what Stiles fondly refers to as “the Situation Room”: one wall has a map and pictures projected on it, there’s a board to draw on and a table were more documents, maps and heavy lore tomes pile up. The whole pack isn’t there yet, since they are still flying in or driving from their respective colleges. Lydia, Derek, Scott, the Sheriff and Parrish are around though, rummaging in the kitchen or pondering on maps around the table.

\- Ok, let’s see those maps and pictures, says Stiles as a hello.

His Dad smiles weakly at him and passes his hand on his face, looking tired. Parrish steps toward Stiles, shake his hand and points at the images on the wall.

\- For now we discovered seven dead animals, a deer, a fox, several rabbits, some birds. And a park ranger had a very unpleasant encounter with a "rabid" bat.

\- Except the bat isn’t actually carrying rabies?

\- Exactly.

\- Nothing out of the Preserve?

\- Not for now, but it seems to get closer.

Stiles steps toward the map, studying it more closely. The killings don’t form any obvious pattern, but they do seem to get closer to the town. But more importantly…

\- Last Monday? Why didn’t you tell me sooner.

The Sheriff and Derek exchange a guilty glance. The werewolf reflexively squares his shoulders, getting ready for the rant he knows is coming their way.

\- A few dead rabbits are no concern of yours, harshly says Derek.

\- Oh really Derek, even when they fling themselves down canyons?

\- You… you were busy.

As often when they have this argument they already had countless times, Stiles feels both pissed and endeared that Derek cares about his studies and wants to spare him the extra supernatural stress.

\- It’s college Derek, I’m always busy. But you know that pack business always comes first.

\- But…

\- No but, we had agreed that…

\- Bro, not the time. It’s Scott who interrupts them.

Stiles glares at him: as the alpha, he was probably the first one to be called with the news, college or no. But, as always he yielded to his Dad’s demands that Stiles shouldn’t be “bothered.” Stiles and Scott also had that argument before too, but Scott’s still too nice to go behind the Sheriff’s back and tell Stiles. _Some best friend indeed_ , thinks Stiles, but the worried look on Scott’s puppy face is an efficient reminder that he should turn his energy toward the situation at hand. So Stiles focuses his attention back to the table and the wall, asking some questions that Parrish or Lydia answer.

When he is up to date, Stiles settles on the couch with a pile of heavy tomes and does what he does best: researching. As he starts to focus, everything else fades away: the sounds of Lydia typing, the conversations as the rest of the pack start trickling in, Scott’s voice as he organizes patrols on the Preserve. Stiles flips through the countless bestiaries, hunters’ diaries and other supernatural sources the pack managed to gather over the years. The Hale vault had been a good start in the making of their very own supernatural library. They started digitizing everything after an untimely accident involving water and a 3000 years-old scroll, as well as to help with research, but the process is long and painful. It doesn’t help that a lot of the grimoires are in dead languages, hindering their reading. Last spring, they had had a tense encounter with a golem that had come down to how fast Stiles could translate Old Hebrew, which at the time wasn’t very fast. The only positive thing had been his grade in _Jewish culture in 19th century Central Europe: a taste for the occult_. Stiles’s teacher had been delighted to have “such a dedicated and bright student” in her class.

_Something meaty for the main course,_

_That’s a fine looking high horse_

Stiles sighs, putting his book down. The night is already pretty advanced, and after about three hours of reading, his mind is starting to wander, back to the song once again.

\- Tired? asks Derek as he puts down his own book.

Stiles startles a bit, he had not even noticed him sitting in the opposite couch.

\- Yeah, thinking back to this Golem last year.

Derek raises an eyebrow from behind his glasses, black plastic frames and large lenses. It’s unfair how good they look on him while Stiles only looks like a hipster. The pack had laughed to no end when they had realized Stiles and Derek had almost identical pairs of reading glasses.

\- You think it might be one? elaborates Derek when Stiles fails to answer his silent eyebrow question.

Stiles snorts:

\- No way. No mud anywhere near the corpses, and why would anyone send a golem after rabbits and birds? I was just thinking about how helpful a database in modern English would be in moments like this.

Derek sighs in turn and lets his head drop on the back of the couch.

\- I wish it was like in a tv show: we’d enter “skinned rabbits” and the computer would tell us everything we need to know.

Stiles can’t help but smile and plays along:

\- You are are facing a… FREAKY MONSTER OF DOOM, he says in an overly nice, high-pitched voice, not unlike his GPS's one.

Derek’s laugh comes as a surprise, as it always does. Even if he is a loss less angsty and grumpy than he used to, he is still the quietest pack member. His laugh is nice, light and honest, and it makes his chest move as he right his head, looking at Stiles fondly.

\- You’re conscious that now, if we ever invent a super-computer, you’ll have to be its voice?

\- If we ever reach the point where I won’t have to read another word in Archaic Latin for the rest of my life, I’ll be glad to.

\- Ah ah!

Danny's cry of triumph attracts everybody’s attention.

\- I think it might be draug.

\- Isn’t that a Nordic vampire? asks Stiles.

\- More like a vengeful ghost, but solid. They can make animals go crazy, apparently.

Stiles makes grabby hands at the book Danny is holding, and the man obliges by getting up and giving it to him. He skims over the page, reading aloud when he finds the interesting bit:

\- “Every single beast that came near his grave went raving mad and howled itself to death.” You didn’t mention hearing any howling, he accuses, turning to the werewolves. 

\- Well, rabbits don’t howl very loud, Stiles.

Stiles kicks Derek in the shin, mumbling about smartasses, and goes back to reading silently while Danny explains his theory:

\- They raise from the grave, driving people and animals mad. They devour their victims or crush them, and they possess superhuman strength. This book says they look like swollen corpses, brown from the decay, but other sources say they are pale, blue skinned.

\- It also says they can shape-shift and haunt people’s dreams. Aaaaand, they can’t be touched by weapons, ads Stiles, closing the book.

Liam whines:

\- Can’t we, for once, encounter a monster who, like, craves marshmallows or something?

Aiden snorts and cracks his neck ominously:

\- Let’s go kick some undead ass.

\- Woo ho. Hold your horses, says Scott. Did you miss the part where our claws are going to be useless against it?

Stiles heart fills with pride. Scott has gone a long way since his first days as an alpha.

\- How do we kill it then? grumbles Aiden.

\- Let’s find out, answers Derek, handing him a tome in old Norse.

* * *

 

When the next weekend rolls around, they are not much more advanced. They started to search the Preserve for a disturbed burial ground but have come up empty handed so far. They did found more dead animals, but thankfully not closer to town. The Police has issued a warning for mountain lions, hoping to keep people out of the woods, and the Sheriff is combining his forces with the pack’s to patrol the border between the two. At least, Stiles and Lydia’s research have yielded some good results: they have the beginning of a plan on how to defeat the draug, and it involves iron swords. So when the pack meets on Friday night, they have a training session. It goes even worse than the time Parrish had tried teaching werewolves how to shoot. They’d been glad then for plain bullets and werewolf healing, and they are too now.

\- Oh my God, this is not a throwing dagger Isaac! yells Stiles

The curly-haired werewolf has, for the third time already, inadvertently let go of his sword while gesturing with it. Stiles is very glad for the protective shield he has raised around him, because the sword was flying straight to his head.

\- If you’re so good you can show us then! yells back Isaac, winded and angry.

Stiles dispels the shield with a wave of his hand and picks up the sword, taking Isaac’s spot in the “arena” (a clearing in the Preserve, near town). Scott’s the one playing the villain, shifted in his beta form. One consistent piece of information is that draugs are stronger than regular humans, and heavy. Scott’s wearing an armor to reflect that, as well as to protect himself from the sword. Stiles raises the sword, and evaluates his options. He’s not the graceful swordmaster that Kira is, but he can hold his own. He waits for Scott’s to pounce, easily deflecting his claws, and uses the pommel of the sword to hit him in the shoulder. The armor clanks loudly and Scott stumbles back a few steps, until he’s at perfect sword-length. Stiles grabs the sword with both hands, spins it once above his head for momentum - and if it also looks cool, that’s just fortuitous - and slams it down on Scott’s head as the alpha is lunging for him again. The helmet rings even louder than the armor and Scott drops to the ground with a groan, certainly more stunned by the sound than by the impact itself. Before he can get up, Stiles is on him, the point of the sword touching gently Scott’s neck.

\- And that’s how you behead someone, declares Stiles, catching some impressed looks on the pack’s face and a thumb up from Kira.

\- Bro, that’s awesome!

Scott’s voice is muffled by the helmet, but his grin can still be heard. Stiles helps him get up and he takes it off.

\- Where did you learn how to do that?

Stiles shrugs.

\- I lost a bet with my roommate. Now I have to go to her _Hunter 101_ class with her.

\- Hunter 101?

Stiles smiles and claps Scott’s on the shoulder.

\- Don’t worry buddy, the good kind of hunters. My school’s the best in the country for all things supernatural, including plain humans trying to survive them. Which, tadaaa, me!

Stiles makes exaggerated jazz hands, wiggling the sword as he goes. He continues:

\- My program offers all kind of fighting classes, and I took some. Ok Isaac, try again!

Stiles throws the sword at him. He picks it up and begrudgingly advances to fight Scott again. Stiles shouts advice to the curly-haired werewolf and completely misses the quiet wonder on Derek’s face as he looks at him. 


	3. Phœnix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really busy lately! Sorry for the inconsistent updating. I finished writing this story though :) A little beta reading and you'll have it all!

Derek and stiles are exploring one more tiny patch of forest when they stumble upon it : a perfect circle of dead grass and a fist sized chest in the middle, half buried. Derek gags and covers his nose as soon as he steps past the limit of the circle, and a smell, broken loose, wafts toward Stiles too. He wishes he couldn't recognize the heavy scent of decay so well. 

\- Derek, back off!

But it's too late: the circle had been entered. The werewolf jumps backward, but Stiles can see it happening already, true to the Danish stories: wisps of smoke are filtering out of the box, solidifying in the shape of a swollen, black-blue corpse. Its first step makes the ground vibrate under its weight. Stiles gets his phone and dials their coordinates to the pack. Derek roars, shifted in a blink of an eye, and steps in front of Stiles, claws at the ready. Stiles would appreciated the chivalry if the werewolf wasn't forgetting a detail. 

\- Iron, Derek!

The werewolf follows Stiles movement and unsheathes his sword, looking utterly awkward holding it. The draug laughs, the sound disgusting like a wet cough. 

\- Such tortured beings shouldn't try to trouble my rest. 

He points at Derek, who immediately falls to his knees and starts trembling and crying. 

\- So much fire in this one, comments the draug. So much loneliness. 

Stiles feels hatred, bright and hot, flame up in his guts. Derek doesn't look physically in pain, his body slack, but the despair on his face is something Stiles hasn't seen in a long time. The witch tries to still his breathing, calling his magic to himself. 

\- You want fire? he mutters. I'll show you fire. 

He starts a Latin incantation under his breath. The ink on his body immediately warms up, and Stiles knows their intricate designs are lighting up his skin, the tattoos amplifying his spark. 

\- A wizard! Exclaims the draug. It's been a while since I had to fight one. 

  
_Of course the monster is magic resistant_  thinks Stiles. _Our legendary luck struck again._  The draug raises his hand, and the shield Stiles hastily put up is of no effect when the creature points at him. Familiar memories assault Stiles: his mother in the hospital, thin and already more dead than alive. The Nogitsune in his body. Scott holding Allison a last time. 

The rage wakes up, the one that sleeps in that dark corner of his heart, in the slightly ajar space that never got closed for good. Stiles starts laughing, the sound demented even to his own ears. 

\- Trying to make me crazy? he yells. You're a bit late to the party, buddy. 

He was taught how to deal with his crappy past in the last years, went to see a psy, but he knows it will never be buried deep enough to never come up again, much like the draug's chest. 

He doesn't want to either, because negative emotions are way more powerful than positive ones, he found out. Stiles puts everything he feels, the hatred, the hurt, the shame, the guilt, pushes it all outside. He feels fire lick at his skin, his clothes burning in a few seconds, until there's just him, naked, sword in hand and body aflame. 

The draug groans, and the visions become harsher, flashes of him gruesomely killing every single person he loves. But it only riles Stiles up even more. Now the fire on his skin, on the blade too, is burning blue with heat. Fueled by the adrenaline and the horror behind his eyelids, the witch charges the draug, who's too heavy to escape his agile strength. The visions take more on more space in his head, become more and more real, and as Stiles cut and slashes, he's not sure if his fighting the monster, his visions or the very people he wants to protect. It's cathartic in some way, thinks a weirdly detached part of him, how cathartic it feels, this debauchery of violence. He can feel the draug's putrid flesh give way under the burning sword, the smell of rot becoming even more stomach-churning as it mixes with the smell of burnt flesh.  Stiles loses track of time, stopping only when there is no more resistance, when there's only ashes left. His fire fizzles, the blue flames disappearing as his tattoos recede, becoming invisible again.

Suddenly there isn't anything left. No more rage, no more fire, no more death. _Is that it?_ he thinks. But when he probes he can feel it still, deep down. The darkness is still there, but it's asleep again. Stiles feels raw, naked to his bones, and so very weary. He's soiled, but the soot is only on the surface. He feels no regret, no shame for having killed the creature. He looks at what's left of the draug (not much) and wonders what Derek is thinking. He hears the werewolf get up, but doesn't turn back, afraid he's going to find on Derek's face a disgust he's not feeling anymore. He stopped feeling sorry a while ago, and he fears the pack's reactions when they'll realize. So Stiles keep his gaze straight when Derek steps by his side. 

\- Well, the draug's strategy might have back _fired_ on him. 

The accent is slight but clear, and Stiles can't help a chuckle from escaping him. When he looks at Derek, the werewolf is staring back, eyes crinkling at the corner, seemingly unaffected. He starts to clap Stiles on the shoulder but stops an inch away, growing claws instead to pick up a charcoal-like chunk of the monster from the witch's shoulder. 

\- How do you feel? he asks, dumping it to the ground. 

Stiles is proud of all the progress Derek made through the years. He's so much better at showing his packmates he cares now. 

\- So gross, dude, you don't even know, Stiles answers. 

\- Let's get you cleaned up, then. 

They both know the Preserve so well by know that Stiles doesn't need Derek's keen senses to walk toward the creek the werewolf surely can hear. Stiles manfully yelps when stepping into the frigid water. 

Derek laughs and Stiles throws water at him. When the pack finds them a few minutes later, they are wrestling in the water, Derek is fully clothed but drenched and Stiles is still stark naked, laughing carelessly like the young idiots they actually are. 


	4. Feeling good

On Sunday morning, Stiles wakes up on Derek's couch. They celebrated last night, to another threat delt with. There was greasy Chinese takeaway, Isaac's cookies and a movie. Stiles had fallen asleep after the first scene, safely slotted between Scott and Liam, his energy at an historical low after the earlier debauchery of magic. Dad had gone home, leaving a sticky note about lunch at the Station before Stiles had to drive back to college. _Life as usual, then,_ thinks Stiles as he stretches, feeling sore. He's killed his fair share of horrors through the years, and he wonders briefly where the moral qualms he first had went. He sighs heavily. 

\- Ok there ? 

Stiles jumps a little. Derek is standing in the kitchen, leaning on the counter that separates it from the rest of the room. He has a bowl of cereals in hand and is leaning back on his elbows, chest and feet bare, wearing only soft-looking pajama bottoms. 

\- Don't move! suddenly yells Stiles, scrambling for his phone. 

Derek quirks an eyebrow but does as he's told, the absence of fear in the air enough for him to not be worried. He understands a second too late, when the phone produces a shutter sounds. He growls and changes his posture but Stiles is already cackling as he furiously taps on the screen of his tactile phone. By the time Derek put down the bowl of cereals and is literally jumping on him, tackling Stiles to the couch and reaching for the phone, the witch lets him take it, having exited the app he was on. 

\- Too late Derek! Today is the day I rule Instagram with the powers of your good looks and of the toaster filter. 

Derek lets himself flop down on top of Stiles, his chin on the witch's chest, arms and legs dangling, and looks up. 

\- Toaster what? 

Stiles laughs, a full body laugh that has both their bodies trembling and Derek can't help smiling, happy because his packmate is. 

Stiles moves to sit up and Derek reluctantly moves off him, sitting by his side as Stiles shows him the app and the different filters. The werewolf is more than capable with his smartphone, but hasn't quite caught up on all the social network thingies, as he calls them. 

\- And then you caption the picture and use hashtags so people can find it, even if they're not following you. 

\- Same as Twitter? 

\- Yeah, but here you put as many as you can. 

Derek takes Stiles's phone and scrolls up until he finds the picture of him. He is shocked for a second of how relaxed and content he looks, finding Stiles still on his couch. When he glances at him, the witch is oblivious that he's the only one Derek looks at like that. 

\- See, you have a 104 likes on it already. 

\- A hundred?!

\- …aaaand 6 right now. 

\- But how?

Stiles gives him his best "are you stupid" look. It's a look he used on Scott so many times he has it down to art by now. 

\- Have you seen yourself? Stiles taps at the screen to drive the point home further. Straight women of Instagram are swooning. 

Derek frowns:

\- What about gay men?

Stiles feels himself redden:

\- Well, many... Some... Very probably... Obviously gay men too! 

Derek laughs, a low rumble deep in his chest and Stiles elbows him:

\- Pfff, fishing for compliments much?!

Derek smugly notes that Stiles used hashtags such as #hottie #waytowakeup or the #manforbreakfast one that he doesn't want to look too much into. He keeps smiling and scrolls down, trying not to focus too much on the inviting sight that Stiles makes as he gets up and stretches, before ambling to the kitchen, only wearing a t-shirt and boxers, his long legs on display. 

\- Who's Sophia?

\- My roommate, answers Stiles distractedly, looking for a clean bowl. Why?

\- "Is this the famous Derek? Should I conclude you finally got a piece of his sexy ass?" 

\- Ohmygod...

Stiles drops the bowl and runs to Derek, trying to snatch the phone. The werewolf bats his hand away, and finishes to read the comments (mostly drooling smileys) before handing it to the blushing man, who's at a loss for words for once. Derek, though, knows he's getting red on the ears too, he can feel them getting hot. Objectively, he knew Stiles finds him good-looking, but having a third party confirming Stiles talks about him as being attractive is something else. It makes his inside contract. 

\- So you... errr... talk about me to... people? 

\- I... yeah, Sophia knows about... everybody in the pack. I often complain about how hot you all are... repeatedly. And loudly. 

Derek can't help but feel a pinch of disappointment at not being special, and another one at Stiles's self-deprecating habit. 

\- You're not too bad yourself you know, he says. 

\- I'm ok being the ugly duckling, Derek. Plus I have tons of charm to compensate. 

Stiles sits in the armchair, striking a pose, batting his eyes exaggeratedly and pouting. His stomach grumbles loudly and Derek huffs a laugh:

\- Real suave indeed, he gently teases. Breakfast?

Stiles nods and they make pancakes, knowing the pack will show up soon. They have a maple sirup 6th sense. It's strangely domestic moving around the kitchen, handing each other ingredients and utensils. Stiles is munching on some cereals as he lines two oven racks with bacon. _If only every morning could be like this_ , thinks Derek, happy to have found pack again, but longing still for something else he can't quite put thoughts on. 

 

* * *

_If I'm a pagan of the good times_   
_My lover's the sunlight_   
_To keep the Goddess on my side_   
_She demands a sacrifice_

 

Stiles is humming while the blender works on the aconite roots, his mind bouncing around. Potions are really tedious ok? 

\- Mr Stilinski! 

He starts, lets the blender fall silent. 

\- Uh? 

\- Please keep the he hexing to your next class. 

Stiles glances at his arms and sees his tattoos fading back to black before disappearing. 

\- Strange, he mutters before returning to his mixing. 

 

\- Sophia! 

\- I'm here! 

Stiles drops his bag in the hallway and enters the kitchen. His roommate, her purple hair in a messy bun, dark skin glistening with sweat, is wrestling a...

\- Leg of lamb ?

\- It's Easter Stiles! yells the witch before swearing, trying to fit the huge piece of meat in a crock-pot that's too small for it. Easter is long-gone according to the Catholic calendar, but Sophia is of Ethiopian ascend: her family is orthodox and celebrates Christian holidays according to their own calendar. 

\- Anyway, look! 

Stiles starts singing 

 

_Birds in the sky,_

_You know how I feel_

 

His skin lights up slowly, the swirling designs of his tattoos coming alive with a deep blue hue. 

 

_Sun in the sky,_

_You know how I feel  
Breeze drifting on by, _

_You know how I feel_

 

Stiles is full on glowing now, and all the birds in the neighborhood are gathering at their windows and chirping, like something out of _Cinderella_.

 

_It's a new dawn,_

_It's a new day,_

_It's a new life for me._

 

The plates and cutter it on the drainboard start rattling.

 

_And I'm feeling good ._

 

The room gets bright like there's an extra sun somewhere in a corner, and Stiles can see the scratches on the table receding, the kitchen towel by the sink growing cleaner. He stops singing when the piece of meat start bleeding again. Sofia smiles to his grin:

\- I take it you didn't know it happened? 

The gobsmacked look on Stiles's face is answer enough. Sofia laughs, letting go of the dish she's preparing. 

\- Every time you've been humming that damned song in the past days you lit up like a Christmas tree. 

She points toward the living room. 

\- You've killed us two house plants with such a sad song. 

\- Err... Oops? 

Sofia looks at him fondly, and Stiles smiles back, his mind racing. 

\- It's a Latin versus intent thing, right? he says. 

\- Bingo, says Sofia. Incantations are merely crutches. Good witches can do magic without even batting an eyelash. 

\- So I'm not quite there yet, but I'm... Merlin, Disney version?

\- Yes. 

Stiles grins, idiotic. 

\- I can't wait to show my pack. 

 


	5. Shy Boy

\- Hey, guys! 

Stiles barges in the loft fairly certain that the pack there, having seen Isaac and Scott's car park downstairs. The loft is empty though and he's whipping out his phone to call Scott when a faint feeling of awareness gives him goose bumps. Someone's watching. One second later, when whoever it is drops from the high beams, Stiles's ready. 

\- Shield! he yells. 

There's a pained groan as his assailant gets zapped, falling to the ground in a heap. 

\- Derek?!

The werewolf gets up.  

\- The pack headed out to the woods for a training session. I volunteered to stay behind and welcome you. 

\- Welcome... You mean freaking me out by dropping from the ceiling?! You're lucky I wasn't trying to kill you! 

Derek pointedly looks at his damaged clothes and at his healing skin. 

\- I could have been fooled, he comments dryly.

And then starts stripping. 

\- Wow, modesty much? exclaims Stiles, not quite ready for so much skin... and muscles... and general hotness.

The witch turns around, though he knows it's pointless now that the scent of his arousal is surely radiating everywhere. 

\- Pot, kettle, remarks Derek. 

\- Uh?

\- You weren't shy at the river. 

Stiles's memory unhelpfully provides him an image of Derek, his wet Henley and jeans sinfully hugging his body and he feels himself flush. 

\- I'm not... I'm ok with my body. 

\- But not with mine?

Derek appears in Stiles's field of vision, stark naked, at ease in his nudity. 

\- Goddess, Derek! 

Stiles closes his eyes but the image of Derek, gloriously naked, is burnt on his retina. And he wants him, can't help it nor control it, so badly he feels heat crawling under his skin from his pelvis, to his belly, to his chest. In the silence, as he struggles to find something to say, he hears Derek padding to the bed, hopefully to put clothes on. 

\- I don't have any problem with your body, he starts. Quite the contrary, as you must be able to… smell. I just... You know I like men... It's awkward, he finishes lamely, feeling like he said all the wrong things. 

\- Awkward to be attracted to me? Jeez, thanks. 

\- Awkward because it's... One sided. 

There, he said it. 

\- One... How can you...

Derek sighs and Stiles hears his bare feet coming back toward him. 

\- Open you eyes, Stiles. 

The witch does and swallows nervously. Derek is standing really close. And he's still naked. And Stiles's eyes can't help but travel down. 

\- Derek? 

It comes out a bit squeaky and there's no point trying not to be aroused now, not when Derek is sporting a semi himself. 

\- I'm attracted to you Stiles. I like your long fingers, your infuriating mouth. I've been known to react very inappropriately when your tattoos light up. The river, you naked and playful with me, was torture and I had been hard since before. You made me _like fire_ again that day, Stiles. 

Derek's voice breaks a bit on the last word and Stiles's brain goes on overdrive. If they both have boners for each other, and Derek has known Stiles's attracted to him, why nothing ever happened? That time in the river, it wasn't just a trick of Derek's stiff jeans, he was hard, and the pack's exaggerated sighs and eye-rolls when they found them weren't about Stiles's stupid crush, it was about how oblivious  they were being, and it had happened before, like at the karaoke when they flirted, and...

\- Stiles? 

Derek is still standing there, looking dejected and embarrassed, his hard-on gone. Stiles smiles and start singing:

  
_I'm sittin' in the window of a street cafe_  
_Watchin' you walking by each day,_  
_It seems that you always wanna look my way_  
_Hey, you can't deny, boy,_  
_You're such a shy boy._  


Stiles tattoos are glowing a soft amber color, like there's sunset light playing on his skin. The loft's light is changing too, like it is night time and candles have been lit for a romantic tête-à-tête. 

  
_So good looking you seem to be_  
_But you're too tongue-tied to say hi to me,_  
_You could make it happen so easily_  
_Woah, I'll tell you why boy,_  
_'Cos I'm looking for a shy boy_  


Stiles's clothes start shying away from his body, like if invisible hands are undressing him, and Derek has this wrinkle at the corner of his eyes that say he's amused, probably because Stiles can't be sexy to save his life and happens to be wearing Batman underwear.

  
_Most guys advertise_  
_By making eyes and telling lies_  


However, goofy seems to work on the werewolf, because the more layers are falling from Stiles's body, the wider his smiles become. 

  
_If you only knew,_  
_You could make your dreams come true_  
_All you gotta do is ask me to_  


Stiles keeps singing and vaguely dancing, and there's music now, to go with the melody, and Stiles could swear it smells faintly of roses. 

  
_Some guys act a bit too sure_  
_And maybe you're thinkin' that less is more_  


His pants and underwear are the last to go, still pushed by invisible hands, and Stiles awkwardly hops while the first leg gets off, stumbling a bit when the pants are too fast to slip off the second leg. 

  
_But Honey, you still gotta knock on my door_  
_Hey, just try boy,_  
_And you could be my boy_  


Stiles rights himself, and intangible rose petals, fall from the ceiling, showering on them, going right through them and disappearing when touching the floor. Stiles would be excited about making such elaborate illusions if he wasn't anxious about being naked in front of a guy he likes, who's also a long-time friend. 

  
_I'll tell you why boy_  
_I'm looking for a shy boy,_  
_Just try boy, you're such a shy boy_

The song ends and the last note seems to hang in the air longer than it should. Stiles tattooed start fading, the illusions dissipate and soon enough there are only two stark naked dudes standing face to face in a loft at 6pm. Stiles is starting to feel chilly and stupid, and is thinking about reaching for his clothes when Derek takes two small steps, closing the space between them. His hand reaches for the last of the light on Stiles's skin, a blue rune around his belly button that is always last to fade. Stiles shivers under the warm touch and the rune reappears, black ink on pale skin, clear as the day it was tattooed. 

\- Oh!

The surprise and awe in Derek's voice echo what Stiles is feeling. Derek puts his second hand on Stiles's plexus and the pattern appears under his palm, radiating a bit around, then swirling from the two touch points until the ink links both. The pattern appears partially, a mix of runes, pictographs and writing in various languages. 

\- Do they... Has it happened before? Derek's voice is husky, his pupils dilated, and Stiles feels himself react to the werewolf's arousal. 

\- It's.. Once... 

A flash of something, maybe jealousy, passes on Derek's face and Stiles elaborates:

\- Sofia was waking me up, grabbed by shoulder... It felt... Nothing like this... Maybe, because, you're a werewolf, so...

Stiles is having trouble focusing, what with Derek's hands exploring lower, skimming on his hips, lingering on his backside, then his butt. Derek stills for a second, his gaze running up Stiles's body until their eyes meet. 

\- Maybe. 

He smiles then, knowing, and Stiles lets go, accepts that it is really happening and grab Derek by the nape, crushing their mouths together. The kiss gets heated right away, Derek groans and Stiles licks at his lips, begging access that he is immediately granted. Derek brings their body flush through his hold on Stiles buttocks and Stiles moans, loud and uncaring, at the sensation of skin against skin. He can feel Derek getting hard, feel the werewolf's hands roaming as Stiles gets a hold of him himself. Of all the times he had entertained the idea, he had never imagined he'd sleep with Derek in the middle of the day, especially not after _singing_ for him. He had thought it would be more of a late-night, we-are-drunk kind of thing. With shoving, vertical surfaces, and shredded clothes involved, most likely. 

\- Stiles? 

The witch snaps back to present time. 

\- Sorry! I don't... What should we start with? 

Derek chuckles then, and Stiles thinks about how great it is to have sex with someone who knows him, knows his mind sometimes goes on tangents, and isn't pissed by it. Derek rubs his stubble on Stiles's neck, trailing kisses up his jaw, until he can whisper in the witch's ear:

\- What about we start by me blowing you? And then you could fuck me? 

Stiles whines, his dick jolting at the suggestion. 

\- Goddess, yes, please. 

They kiss more, and touch more, and slowly find their way to the bed, where Stiles lets himself fall on his back.

\- I've been wanting to do that for a long while, he says while wriggling until he is laying in the middle of the bed, his legs unbashfully open, his hard-on jutting out. 

\- I know, answers Derek

Stiles would complain about being Han-soloed if there wasn't a hunger in the werewolf's eyes that talked of a sense of urgency. They make out for a while, hands groping, heat rising, Derek kneeling over Stiles. There's a slight pause and Stiles wonders aloud:

\- Why now?

Derek stops, sits back on his hinges.

\- I was never sure you were attracted to _me_ and not just... 

He gestures vaguely to his body. Stiles rises on his elbows:

\- Dude! I saved your life how many times! How could you not know?!

\- How could you?! snaps the werewolf.

There's a pissed thing happening to his eyebrows that Stiles dislikes a lot. But he gets it: Stiles is one of the only humans of the pack and Derek grew up in a werewolf family. He's used to everyone being able to read him like an open book, maybe even forced himself to let it happen after the (multiple) Kate debacles. But Stiles… Stiles can't read him, not as well at least, and no one in the pack thought of telling him. He's been flirting like an idiot all this time, overplaying things to hide a crush he thought was unrequited, but really only hurting Derek in the process. 

\- Stiles...

Derek has his worried eyebrows on now, and looks ready to bolt. Stiles raises a hand to his scruffy jaw and Derek leans in just a bit, just enough for Stiles's heartbeat to quicken and now it's definitely a smile tugging at the corners of the werewolf's mouth. 

\- I'm sorry, says Stiles softly. I didn't know. But it doesn't matter now. I want you, Your body, your personality, your ghosts - even literal ones. I want cuddling, I want Sunday morning breakfasts, I even want the fighting, the saving. Ok?

There's no hesitation in Derek's answer:

\- Ok.

\- Good. 

They look at each other, and it's a bit awkward but also exhilarating, and they are grinning both. 

Finally Derek leans back and they kiss, tender, unhurried. They take their time, let their hands wander until the heat comes back, builds again. They start rubbing on each other and Derek breaks the kiss, pressing his head in the crook of Stiles's shoulder, just breathing there and nipping at the skin from time to time. Stiles bucks up and Derek bears down, their dicks trapped between their bodies, the friction too dry but still so good. Stiles realizes he's moaning quite loudly and snaps his mouth shut but Derek makes a disappointed noise, moving his head just so he can nibble at Stiles's earlobe and whisper:

\- Come on, I want to hear you. 

\- Fuck, Derek, lube?

Derek stills and clings even tighter to Stiles for a second before rolling off the bed with a grunt, and walking to the bathroom, his hard cock bouncing, his everything rippling with tight muscles, and Stiles can say with a 100% certitude he was never as happy to get laid as he is now. 

When Derek comes back, Stiles snatches the lube from him and sits, his back on the wall, legs open, knees bent.  He gestures for Derek to sit between his legs.

\- How...

\- Come closer.

Derek complies, and soon they are smooched together, balls to balls, dicks rubbing. Stiles doesn't waste a minute and slicks his hand. He sees the moment Derek gets it, the first flash of pleasure on his face when Stiles wraps his long fingers around both their lengths and it is _glorious_. Stiles starts moving his hand up and down and Derek leans back, propped on his hands, abs taut as he snaps his hips up in rhythm, eyes closed, head tilted back, lost in the sensation. 

\- Jeez, you're something to see… mumbles Stiles. 

Derek straighten his head and smiles at that, smug as hell, and moves his hips, purposeful, playful, beautiful. Stiles feels a mix of pleasure and of a deeper feeling push him toward the edge. 

He doesn't fight it, thinks about how they'll have multiple other occasions to do what Derek had suggested, and then some. He comes with a groan, closing his eyes briefly. He looses the rhythm he had going but keeps pumping his hand a few times around them both, his come mixing with the lube. Derek nostrils flare and he comes seconds afterward, surprise and pleasure sharp on his face. 

Stiles lets his hand fall back on the bed. 

\- Dude, did you... Did you come from the smell of my spunk?!

Derek who's barely reddened by the exercise, blushes like Stiles never seen before. It's endearing and strangely sexy. It is making Stiles want to exhaust him in other ways. It's also answer enough. 

\- I like it. It's pretty fabulous even, comments Stiles. 

Derek looks at him and smiles, small and happy. After cleaning them with the corner of a sheet, the werewolf moves himself so they can cuddle, and kiss, and lazily hold each other. 

They have been laying there for a while, and Stiles is feeling sleepy, when Derek suddenly sits up, eyes trained to the door. 

\- The pack? guesses Stiles. 

\- Yes, we should get dressed, air the room. 

Stiles grins and burrows deeper in the pillow. He feels a bit vindictive knowing the pack was aware they were pining and said nothing. 

\- Why bother? They'll know anyway. 

Derek rolls his eyes but lies down again, not even throwing a sheet on them. 

\- You want to brag you got laid?

Stiles rolls on top of him, long limbs grasping Derek as surely a an octopus. 

\- I want to brag _we_ got laid. 

 

And if there are screams, gagging noises, giggles and wolf-whistles thrown their way minutes later well, it's not their problem, is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the end of my first fanfiction ever! Edited and posted from work to, no less ;)  
> Comments and critics are welcome and appreciated!


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